Reason Does Not Understand
by Little Obsessions
Summary: "The green leaves of summer darkened and crisped and by that point, his letter of resignation had lay in the top drawer of his desk for two months. The blue ink, addressed to her, had faded. He hadn't had the courage to bin it yet but nor had he had the courage to hand it over." A story which follows Joseph's first year at the palace and his decision to stay.
1. One

**Disclaimer: None of the characters herein belong to me but to Disney and Meg Cabot and I make no monetary gain from writing. This applies to all the chapters. **

**Author's note:**

**This story has always been in my head and has, for the last few years, been languishing on my computer essentially finished. It just never came out the way I wanted it to until I started re-writing recently. **

**I really love reviews; they let me nail down characters, offer suggestions and - on occasion - wake up my listless and temperamental muse. **

**It follows Joe's first year at the palace and examines why he came to be there. I will be posting updates to this as well as 'The Beach House' at the same time. **

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><p>He stepped down, the sound of applause carrying him off the platform, and breathed an audible sigh of relief. His notes were curling at the edges, ruined by sweaty palms and constant use. Reluctant to part with them for purely romantic reasons, he stowed them in his pocket for the time being and strode towards the man who was half-hidden behind the curtain at the side of the stage.<p>

"That was great," Andre smiled broadly.

He knew the compliment to be genuine because his closest friend, and business partner, rarely handed them out without merit. He curled his arm around his friend's shoulder and smiled.

"Drink?"

"I wouldn't say no."

The bar of the hotel was quieter than the conference room but the majority of patrons were there because of the event nonetheless. They nodded and offered him the occasional congratulations but he was glad to have some time with Andre and talk over the event they had organised and run with, what appeared, to be quite obvious success.

"I can't believe we just did that," he motioned the barman over, "Two scotches. I mean, can you imagine it?"

"What, that two idiots would have managed this? No!"

Andre laughed, thumping him on the back. The barman slid the glasses towards them and they clinked them together then proceeded to take greedy gulps.

He genuinely could not believe that their infantile business had been so successful and Andre's confidence when they first started out now seemed justified where at first it had been irritating. Andre was more inclined to leading the corporate side of it, schmoozing and winning contracts where Joseph was the man who delivered the promises, while all the while being terrified it was going to collapse in on them. His pride was not overshadowed today; instead he wore it with confidence. A childhood dream, formed on the back of bar mats and discussed on tedious military drills, was now a tangible reality. They stood, he felt, as masters of their own futures in a way they hadn't before. It seemed deserved for two boys from a little fishing village who had dreamed of this to achieve it.

"Here's to many lucrative contracts," Andre sat back on his stool, "The glories of privatisation."

"We need to be in early tomorrow morning because-"

He also found it very hard to switch off.

"Excuse me?"

They both turned to the man who had appeared at their side. He was older than them both and while his body spoke of harsh military training at some point it was softened by age and by time. This dreaded softening was amongst Joseph's worst nightmares and, while Andre had embraced it, he spent punishing hours in the cramped fitness suite at their rented offices or on his own treadmill just to stave it off.

"Hello," the man smiled, "Can I just congratulate you on the excellent presentation. My name is Alois Bruneil. I'm the Head of Security for the Genovian Royal Family."

If he expected them to be impressed then Joseph imagined he would be sorely disappointed by his own reaction. Andre, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing when he smiled and feigned unabashed interest.

"Oh?"

"Yes," the man smiled, then turned to Joseph, "Can I say I am very interested in your understanding, in particular sir, of contemporary threats and the new technology to improve security. I don't lie when I tell you that it's understanding that is very lacking in my place."

For a moment the other man looked woefully stressed but then he smiled and it was gone.

Joseph was interested now, not because he was particularly interested in the royal family of the small country but because of the opportunity this presented. Plus it was his area of interest; how you organised and resourced and maintained subtle but well-run security. He liked tactics and planning, while Andre quite simply liked money. He sat up straighter.

"Really?" Andre cuffed Joseph's shoulder, "Well my partner, Joseph, is the man for that. In fact, I'd go as far as to say we're the company for it."

This was why Joseph wasn't the face of the company and had spent the night before panicking over the presentation he was giving today; he just didn't have that unbearable confidence that Andre did to seem like they were the only option.

"Yes," Alois smiled and offered his hand, "I can see that. I have your card and I'll be in touch."

"Please," Andre pulled another card from his breast pocket, "Take my personal number. It's easier to get us that way."

Joseph almost scoffed at this move; Andre did this with every prospective customer and Joseph had started to wonder why they'd even bothered to purchase business cards.

The Head of Security smiled, "Thank you, gentlemen. It's been a pleasure."

They watched him go then Andre laughed.

"Genovian Royal Family. Wouldn't be a bad name to have on our books."

"I don't believe in absolute monarchy," Joseph drained his glass, then motioned for two more.

"So serious all the time Joe! And who cares about their beliefs. If we're protecting them we're getting their money," His friend shook his head, "Maria invited you back for dinner, don't get too drunk."

Joseph looked at his friend then laughed, "I can handle my drink. Tell her thank you, but I'd hate to crash another family dinner – plus I don't think I can cope with another night of Lucia's tea parties."

"Stop it," Andre was serious, "You're not gate-crashing. Maria worries about you and Jaime would be glad to see you. You are his godfather, it's his birthday party next week, remember."

"Tell her to stop," he grumbled, "You don't need to worry about me. And I'll remember, I thought I'd take him to see Real."

Andre sighed, "So you're busy tonight then?"

"Yes," he winked, "of course I am."

"You need to calm down," Andre was half-serious but it irritated him.

"Don't lecture me, Andre," he muttered, "I'm enjoying myself."

"A little too much," his friend pulled his coat on and offered Joseph his, "You're going to go through all the women in Madrid. What will you do then?"

He laughed darkly, "Go to Barcelona."

-0-

Joseph hadn't, realistically, expected to hear from the Head of Security from Genovia. The twelve month contract they secured with a national bank and an insurance company (for which they'd had to hire three new men) were delight enough on the back of the conference so when Alois phoned it was with almost a blasé attitude that he sat down with Andre to discuss the phone call.

He finished training with the new recruits - they had been doing security protocols - and left them to have their lunch while he made his way to the conference room at the far end of the office. His head thumped from the night before and the three hours he'd spent agonising in the gym had done nothing to ease it. Sometimes he wondered if the headaches he got were not physical but psychological – a manifestation of his guilt.

"You honestly should hear this," Andre let out a low whistle, pushing a hastily scribbled set on notes towards him across the conference table, "It's not even believable."

He began reading but Andre was obviously so excited that he couldn't contain himself.

"They're offering one million to secure us alone. Not including personnel fees or other services. The only stipulation is your exclusive services, just as an advisor, for a year."

"I'm trying to read this," he snapped at his friend.

"No matter," Andre pulled the paper out of his hand, "I can tell you what they want."

"Who's they?"

"What does it matter? It's an amazing offer. We provide security advice and services to an internationally known royal family? Their names on our books? We'll make a killing. I've done some research; they're really influential."

He wasn't quite sure that he understood the terms of the agreement, or if it even was an agreement, so he held up his hand.

"I don't quite know Andre," he said, "I'm not sure. It sounds like it involves a lot of my time."

His friend was thoughtful for a second, "Yeah, it does. You'd have to move there but only for a year. It's not a rolling contract, it's more of a consultation."

He had half-expected this from the hastily explained plan so he wasn't surprised. Still, the thought of leaving his apartment and his life here in Madrid didn't appeal in the slightest. Plus he had his half of the company to run – the training and the implementation of contracts. He couldn't simply leave that behind for an influential name on the books.

"I…" he shrugged, realised that this was not his area of expertise, "What do you think?"

"I think we'd be crazy to pass up the opportunity," Andre answered, "On the other hand I don't know who could replace you here and have the knowledge you do. It's maybe a bad idea to go somewhere else while we need you here. I don't know the ins and outs of this like you do. I'm just a charlatan."

"Don't be silly," he examined the notes again, "You could do it. It's just a year, right? And Augustino will help you."

Augustino was another friend from the army. While not as close to them, he was always looking for a way to make some money and his gig as a mercenary wasn't working out so well right now.

"Right," his friend said, "And you're just over the border – you can be back in a day when we need you. I did make that clear, that you'd have to come back from time to time. You might have to help out with security at times for them too, like the actual body-guarding, but it should be fine. If you want to do it I'll talk to Augustino."

Joseph ignored the feeling that, for the befit of the company, the decision had already been made. He didn't feel particularly tethered anyway. A year was nothing, three hundred and sixty-five days were a blink. He shrugged again. It might be good to get out of Madrid for a while; he spent too much time in bars and women's beds. Despite himself, he knew that he was jammed in a rut. And despite himself, he wanted to stay in it. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, made his decision, and then spoke.

"Genovia it is," he smiled, "A million is worth a year of my time."

"Yeah," Andre laughed, "With that kind of money we'll need to buy a company car that will drive you to and from Genovia in the blink of an eye."

"That's irresponsible," Joseph laughed, "You're the responsible one. Don't change the roles."

"Tell me about it," his friend sat back, "Are you sure Joe?"

"Of course," he nodded, "I don't mind the idea of a little apartment in Genovia. They have bars in Genovia, and women, right?"

Andre laughed, he could see, despite himself, "Yeah, both in abundance. But you'll be staying in the palace."

"Oh," he said caustically, "Free room and board."

-0-

His apartment, based in the Malasana district of the city, seemed forlorn as he considered what to pack. Piled neatly on the dining table were the books and papers he had been studying recently; autobiographies of the royal family, maps of the country, cities and palaces, files forwarded by the keen Alois. Lifting them he threw them into his briefcase, watching the queen's face as she disappeared behind the black leather. Figuring he had already made a start, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and slid into his arm chair and contemplated what time he'd leave in the morning. He was going to eat with Andre and Maria and their kids tonight and had already spent the weekend explaining to his family in the small seaside town he had grown up in why he was going across the border, and was actually welcoming the escape by the time he was ready to leave. He hated things which dragged themselves out. He wanted, quite simply, to get started.

Though it wasn't going to be a brilliant year, it was laying a foundation for an internationally recognised company. It felt right to make the sacrifice.

The shrill ring of the doorbell startled him from thought. He pulled the door open and sagged a little; he had been hoping, perhaps vainly, to avoid this.

She was very beautiful, even more so when she was angry. It seemed cowardly and irreverent that this was the first thing he noticed.

"Hey," she brushed past him and into the apartment.

He was about to chastise her when he realised that calling her out on it was unjustified; she'd spent most nights in the last two years here. The last time he'd seen her, she'd slammed the exact same door behind her.

Bracing himself, he shut the door.

"We go on a break and you leave the country," she started, "Nice, Joe."

He slumped down into his chair and dared himself to make eye-contact.

"Who told you?"

"Maria," she answered, looking around, "When did you plan on telling me you were leaving?"

"I didn't," he said honestly, "Anna, I thought it might be easier on you."

He could have gotten angry at Maria for telling her but that was simply childish. Of course she told her. They were friends and when Joe had asked Anna to marry him, Maria had been delighted.

"Nothing you ever do is easy on me," she hissed and he could see she was supressing tears, "It's always about you."

She was still wearing the engagement ring and it made him feel uneasy.

He looked up, fully aware she was right, "I am sorry."

She fell into the couch, brushing tears away, "I don't know what I expected. I should have learned to expect nothing from you."

He wanted to be the man she wanted. The man who would stay and marry and have children but he just couldn't be that person. He had tried with her and he had tried with women before her too. The problem was that he was a nomad by the very nature of who he was. He was always restless to move on, to act; being stationary hurt him to the point where he hurt others. And he didn't love her…even though he had tried. He was so very trying and that appeared to be his problem.

"Anna, I tried," he said feebly.

"You don't love me, do you?"

He looked her square in the eye and hated himself for his words. They left him as if they belonged to someone else, someone much crueller and more calculated than him.

"No, I don't."

She shook her head, "Then why did you waste two years of my life?"

He didn't want to say 'Because I thought I did', so he just shrugged.

"Joe, it's about time someone taught you to stop being so selfish," she said calmly, "You're cruel."

He resented the accusation, regardless of the truth of it. He bristled at her words and felt anger growing inside himself but he checked it. Instead he stepped back from her in all ways that he could.

"I have to get ready Anna," he said quietly, "You should leave."

"So that's it?"

Her anger flared again and her voice rose.

"Yes," he motioned, not unkindly, towards the door, "There's no point."

"No," she was sobbing now, "No there's so obviously not."

He felt unbearably guilty but to show her that would be to prove her right. He wanted to tell her that she knew what she was getting in to but instead he just stayed silent. She strode out, slamming the door behind her and two years of his life went with her. It was a cyclical version of this, his life. The first fires of romance, the reality of it all, then the slamming of many doors. He was bored of it but no matter how he tried he couldn't escape it.

A few minutes later he left his apartment, after he was sure she was gone, and made his way down the stairs and into the bar across the street. It was cool and dark and not too busy because it was early evening. Blanca, the bar-maid, smiled and slid a beer towards him.

"Hard day?"

"You could say that," he nodded as he climbed onto the stool.

"We can fool about if you want, I get off at eight," she said casually as she dried a glass with a towel.

"Thanks Blanca but it's always awkward afterwards," he nodded, "Plus I have dinner with my friend's family tonight."

"Sounds fun," she said dryly, leaning towards him, "You look so miserable. Is it because you're leaving?"

"You're too nosey," he joked, "But no, it's not."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, "Well you know I'll miss you."

"Thanks," he smiled and held up his beer, "You always know how to make a guy feel good."

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><p>Please leave a review if the notion takes you!<p> 


	2. Two

Thank you for the very positive reviews on the previous chapter. Please continue to read and review.

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><p>By the time he arrived at the palace night was falling. It hadn't been hard to find since he had studied the roads of the country but he had been surprised by the beauty of the small state and his enjoyment of it. He had spent precisely one day in Genovia over the course of his entire life. When he had just left the army, he, Andre and Joseph's brother Miguel had hired a yacht and sailed around the Mediterranean for a month. They had stopped at the port town of Mertz on the coast, had a few beers and looked around, and started off for Portugal. He hadn't even considered returning. The coastal roads though were an utter pleasure, winding and snaking their way towards the beaches and tourists spots. He intentionally took these rather than the quicker route and was all the more impressed for it.<p>

Alois, the Head of Security, greeted him as if he were an old friend. They had been in almost constant contact since the contract had been finalised, so it felt like he_ did_ know him but he was reluctant to imagine the excitement of the greeting fitted the relationship. He played it out nonetheless as a footman took his bags from the back of the newly purchased company car.

"It's good to have you here," Alois smiled as he led him up marble stairs towards grand double doors, "I'll show you to your room and let you get settled in. Then a tour of the palace. In the morning, the king has asked to meet you."

He felt suddenly very overwhelmed but, afraid to show it, he remained impassive. As they came into the foyer, a teenage boy walked past with a basketball in hand. Alois stopped and bowed. From his study, Joseph recognised him as the younger prince – he was eleven, in his final year of junior school in Genovia but currently on Easter break.

"Hello Alois," the boy greeted in a typically refined accent.

Following his lead, Joseph bowed too.

"Who is this?"

The young boy examined him with curiosity.

"This is Colonel Joseph Romerro, formerly of the Spanish army, Your Highness," the man answered promptly, "He now owns a company that is helping us improve the security of the palace."

The young boy smiled at him, "A pleasure Colonel."

He'd never heard a kid be so formal and, while always professional, he suppressed the urge to laugh.

"I see you have a basketball there," he motioned towards the ball, "Do you play, sir?"

"Yes," the boy pushed the ball up onto the tips of his fingers, "It's not exactly princely though. I mean, it's not rugby or polo. But I have an American friend and he's very good. I'm not great but I am getting there. I am fascinated by America. I will be going to university there if my mother gives in."

Joseph smiled, "I play. Perhaps I can show you at some point?"

He heard a little huff of breath from Alois and it occurred to him he might have overstepped the boundaries of propriety. He felt himself grow embarrassed.

"That would be brilliant," the prince smiled, "Give him time off Alois, so he can spend his time doing something valuable."

Joseph laughed where Alois did not. It appeared he hadn't found the young prince particularly funny. The prince laughed too then turned to the other man.

"Oh smile Alois, it might never happen."

They continued along the corridor to the left of the foyer and down onto another floor before Alois spoke.

"Just be careful about what you offer them. I'm not your boss while you're here but I'd be grateful if you could run things past me. You can become consumed by this job."

Where there hadn't been tension before, Joseph felt it now. He nodded his head in agreement though as they stopped at a richly panelled mahogany door.

"This is the corridor for the live-in staff," he explained, "The majority live off-site. Myself, my second in command, the king and queen's assistants, a few servants – including the butler and house keeper - and the head cook live here. The head gardener and gamekeeper live in the grounds. And now you do too."

"Right," Joe followed him into the spacious room, "Are there rules?"

"No," the other man answered, "Well within reason anyway. As long as you're off duty you can do as you wish, providing you leave out of the side gates. I'll leave you to settle in and come back in about an hour?"

"Sure," he nodded, placing his bag down on the bed, "Sounds fine."

When the door was closed he looked around the room. It was more of an open plan apartment really, with a small kitchen and living area too. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd taken retrograde steps – it was no better than a barracks, and no more free either.

An hour later, almost to the second, there was a sharp rap on his door.

"It's best I take you round now," Alois informed, "They're at their dinner and the place is quiet."

He showed him the entire palace, from the staff kitchens to the room in which the family's wellingtons were kept. As they walked along the corridor which led to the private chambers a young woman, escorted by a footman, gave him a deliciously long look up and down. Her legs, under a pretty skirt, seemed like they went on forever and he turned round just to get another look.

"Who was that?"

He asked in a low whisper as they turned the corner towards the security rooms.

"The king's friend," the man answered vaguely but not so vaguely that Joseph didn't understand the implication.

"Oh."

"Yes," Alois muttered, "You'll find you say that quite a lot here."

The security rooms were not awash with life, as he expected of them, but were instead utterly pitiful. There was one computer sitting on a desk with more coffee rings than he had thought acceptable for cleanliness. He stared around for a moment, past the listless and out of shape body guard in the corner who he was snoozing behind his newspaper, then turned to Alois.

"Surely there's another room for the CCTV screens?"

Alois shrugged dryly.

"You're kidding, right?"

He suddenly realised that he'd bitten of a million worth of more than he could chew.

-0-

The next morning he was up with the sun, making his way toward the depleted fitness suite after a strong coffee. When the treadmill spluttered to life only to die out just as he was about to step on it, he gave in and took to the gardens for a jog instead. There was no one else around and he knew the land was vast and the thought of running for hours didn't seem so much of a chore as a pleasure. While he had not spent any time in it, he had an idea of where most things where so he took off for the stables. It would also, he though rather prudently, give him an opportunity to see what natural security there was and what needed improving.

He peeked in at the horses, who appeared to be sleeping, and recalled that he'd read about the queen's love of riding. Then he doubled back and went the long way to the palace. By the time the grand building was within sight again the sun was fully awake and bathing the entire place in glorious light. The head gardner, who he'd met quickly in the kitchen last night, gave him a little wave as he jogged past. Just ahead, on a balcony on the second floor, a figure stood. Her face was tipped up into the sun and she was bedecked in a fierce looking suit, obviously already dressed for the day ahead. It was the first time he'd laid eyes on either of the royal couple whose house he was occupying. His considerations were only fleeting and the main thing that niggled him was just how exposed she seemed to be. He ducked inside and decided on a shower.

At eight he was in the security room, waiting for Alois who was ten minutes late to begin his own shift. A few of the security team, eying him with wariness, were there too.

"I'm Joseph Romerro," he said finally, aware of how truly awkward this seemed to be for everyone.

One of the men, apparently the oldest, steppes forward, "Auguste. Nice to meet you."

"Thanks for saving me there," he smiled, "I was starting to feel unwelcome."

"You're not," the other man assured, "We're glad to see you."

"Thanks. I –"

At that moment the door opened and Alois came in. He seemed flustered, his top button undone above his tie and his eyes tired.

"Joseph, the king wants to see us now."

"Of course," he nodded, "The briefing-"

"Not to worry," he motioned with his hand, hurrying him along, "In his office."

He looked at the group of guys behind him who had slumped against desks and cabinets, coffee cups in hand.

"Don't you give a briefing?"

He asked it before he had really thought about it. It carried with it the tone of criticism and he wanted to bite it back as soon as he said it.

Alois appeared not to notice, "Not all the time."

He took that to mean that he hardly ever did. He felt utterly disapproving of the entire practice he was seeing and already the task of telling this man what was wrong seemed insurmountable.

The king's office was directly connected to his chamber. It was typical to what Joseph had imagined when he had thought of the king's chambers. It was dark and mahogany and smelled of cigar smoke and damp ink. He stood in front of the empty desk, eyed the papers and different things that lived on its surface. There were a few silver framed photographs – facing away from him – and a file lying open entitled 'Suggestions for Economic Enhancement of the Tourist Industry'. He had forgotten, of course, that this royal family were actually in charge of their country. They weren't just figureheads or nostalgic characters but actual rulers who had huge sway in the way the country was run. In Joseph's rather widely shared opinion the entire system was archaic and silly, yet here he was working to ensure their longevity. He was ignoring the irony in that.

At this thought a door to his left opened and a man stepped out. He was dressed smartly, in a blazer and slacks, and his hair was pushed back from his face. He had once been handsome and sporting but that seemed to have blurred slightly. He was older than Joseph had imagined too, though he had read that the king had been thirty when he'd married his teenage wife. He turned to the man and bowed as he had practiced, bringing his heels together to click as was the preferred custom in Genovia. Alois did the same.

"Good morning Alois," the king said, then he turned to Joseph, "And you must be – what's your name again?"

Joseph was momentarily affronted by his blasé attitude but he swallowed his irritation and said, "Colonel Joseph Romerro, Your Majesty."

"Ah yes, of course, that's it," the king sat down at his desk, "I am sorry I forgot. I hear so many names every day Joseph, so you'll understand why I forget. Anyway, even though I'm thoroughly against this, welcome to the palace."

Joseph took this revelation not as an insult but as a surprise, though he said nothing.

"While you're here this is your home," the king continued, "And you couldn't be in a better country sir. I urge you to enjoy your time in beautiful Genovia. Have you settled in well?"

"Yes sir," he nodded as he lied.

"Well, don't cost us any more money than you already have," the king leaned forward and laughed lowly, "You're only here at the queen's behest. We both know there's nothing wrong with the security. Alois does a tremendous job."

He wanted to strongly disagree with a number of those opinions but this appeared not to be the time, place or company. And the king, he suddenly felt, didn't come across as entirely trustworthy either. He pushed this assertion to the side as it was both unfair and prejudice; he'd never liked the idea of a class system.

"Anyway," the king pulled the file he'd been reading towards him, already reading, "You may go. A pleasure to meet you Mr Romerro."

When they were outside in the cool marble halls, he turned to Alois.

"'The queen's behest'?"

"Yes," Alois' mouth was a grim-line, "Yes. You see…"

"Yes?"

"You see I don't necessarily agree with the king either, we need updates, but not to the extent the queen thinks," he shook his head, "A few months ago an intruder broke into the grounds. One of the most basic breeches. She was out riding her damned horse and…you haven't met the queen yet, have you?"

"No," he shook his head, "I haven't."

"We'll put it off as long as we can."

That wasn't at all positive so he simply nodded. Despite the obvious dislike for her that Alois harboured, Joseph actually understood the queen's disapproval of the decidedly poor security in place. In fact, he agreed with her.

He spent the rest of the first day working with the team, taking notes on basics which needed improving, and trying to figure out an economic way of training these guys into shape which wouldn't induce a heart attack. They had all, at one time or another, been the elite of army units but that had been allowed to slide. Not all of them had been commissioned like he had but they had military or police training and you wouldn't have known it to look at them.

At night he phoned Andre for a while, to be greeted with the news they had secured another lucrative contract for a festival in Madrird and then settled down to read after doing push-ups just for the sheer burn of it all. It put him to sleep, at least, and he nodded off into dreamless oblivion.

The next few weeks were spent pulling together a plan to secure the grounds and train up the men. In the morning, before the early shift started, he had them all out on the tennis courts doing basic training drills and ruining the lawns in the process, much to the gardeners chargin. They hated it at first but by the third week they were more willing and, in some cases, enthusiastic. Only one man, a veteran called Max, made his displeasure evident but even he was coming round.

As he was illustrating some basic combat, he looked up to see a handsome horse thundering by, ridden by the queen. He'd yet to meet her, even though he'd been in the palace for nearly a month, but he was curious about her nonetheless. Chasing behind her was Alois, looking alarmingly upset as he did so.

"We'll call that the end, gentlemen," he said, signalling to the group.

Most of them were sweating profusely, turning their sweaters dark grey across their chests. He was seeing an improvement though not only in physical stamina but in their willingness to work. No one sat at desks reading newspapers anymore and he counted this as a win on his part. They trundled away, water bottles in hand, and he followed behind.

The rest of the day was his first off since he'd arrived and he intended to make the most of it. He showered quickly then slipped out of the palace, getting behind the wheel of his car and speeding out of there as quickly as he could manage. He had the inkling that if he didn't he'd end up embroiled in whatever trauma had befallen Alois that morning.

It was the first time too, he realised as he pulled the car up in one of the cobbled streets of Pyrus, that he'd had a moment to actually consider the insanity into which he'd thrown himself. And when he did consider it, it made him feel really quite uncomfortable. He wandered about for a while, picking up some new shirts and sneakers, as well as indulging in a new watch that he didn't really need.

In a side street, less upmarket than the city in general, he found a sports bar and settled in to watch the football. He ordered a greasy burger and fries and despite his better judgement, indulged in a beer. The girl who brought it over stopped as she dropped off the drink. He was interested in the game though, and while she was pretty, the thought of any conversation didn't appeal. He didn't want to talk but he felt obliged to be the man he was supposed to be.

"Hey," she smiled, leaning against the table, "You're new here."

He nodded, stuffing some fries into his mouth, "I am, yeah...yeah."

"Yeah. What's your name Mr Yeah?"

"Joe," he smiled at her dryness, "Yours?"

"Louise," she nudged him, "I can see you're interested in the game. Typical guy."

"I am indeed," he took a drink from the beer, "So have you worked here long?"

"Getting myself through school," she sighed, "It's a job, right?"

"Right."

She couldn't be older than twenty five. He felt inwardly uncomfortable; he always attracted girls who thought they were strong enough for him and those girls were often younger. She was, of course, undeniably beautiful but he was here for a year and he didn't want to get embroiled in anything. Everything he touched in this respect became toxic and the thought of breaking another person, despite his attraction to her, made him cringe.

"Listen-"

"Hey Mr Yeah," she nudged him, "Don't tell me you're not interested. I was just being friendly. Despite how good-looking you are, I can already tell you're too much to handle."

He laughed darkly, "You're cleverer than I gave you credit for."

"Course I am," she walked away, "That's the problem when you work behind a bar."

He watched her go, admired her for a moment, and then turned back to his game. He decided, in that moment, that he'd frequent this bar. At least he'd know someone by name that didn't live in the palace.

He was stupid for driving home after six beers but he did it anyway because that was what Joseph always did; took risks he didn't need to, simply because he could. He was lucky not to get pulled over but with the constitution of a horse he drove well despite the alcohol. He had discovered he favoured coming through the kitchens into the palace because the cook was nice to talk to and, like any woman who felt sorry for him, she fed leftovers. Tonight was no different. She cried out in delight when he came into the kitchen and, fussing about, cajoled him to sit down at the table.

"The queen didn't want her chicken," she grumbled, "So here it is. Took me all day too!"

The first class cooking that the queen seemed to turn down more than she ate it always pleased him; he tucked in and spoke to her through mouthfuls of chicken as she went about her work.

"Does the queen always turn down her dinner?"

"She always eats the starter," cook answered as she polished a pot vigorously, "But she's never got the appetite. She likes her figure too much."

He laughed, "I haven't met her."

The cook paused as she put the cloth and pot to the side, "Not everyone likes her but I do. She's always nice to me and always so willing to listen. I don't know…I think she has a harder time than lots of people imagine."

He nodded through his mouthful, looking to the door as someone else came in.

"Oh hello," Michel, the queen's personal secretary came into the kitchen.

He carried a clip-board and diary in one hand and a pen in the other. Joseph wondered if he slept with those items because he never seemed to be without them. He was also never without a permanent scowl or word of complaint.

Joseph had had very little to do with him but the times he had come across him the man had been rude as well as snooty, making Joseph dislike him with an intensity that he reserved only for certain people. Even the tone of his greeting was condescending.

"Hello," Joseph nodded politely, despite himself.

Michel slumped into the seat beside him and shook his head, "She's been a nightmare today."

No one answered him so he continued.

"She wants me to phone and actually check the kind of duvets they use in Prince Pierre's school for Prince Phillippe starting. Is she kidding? He has allergies apparently. Like that is the biggest worry we all have."

Joseph ignored him again, because his complaints were always underwhelming trivialities, but the cook slammed down the spoon she was using to stir something delicious smelling and turned.

"Maybe you should just do it! All the energy you put into complaining, you could have phoned then three times already."

Michel held up his hands, "God, calm down! I was only saying."

She threw a plate of stew in front of him, which while nonetheless appetising was not the chicken she'd fed Joe, and he jumped out of his seat.

"Well don't only say," she hissed and motioned to Joe, "Remember we have guests!"

Joseph supressed a laugh and jumped out of his chair.

"Thanks for the dinner."

She gave him a generous smile as he left. Before he did though, Michel spoke.

"Colonel? Alois asked me that, if I saw you, I was to tell you he wished to see you."

"Thank you Michel."

Alois' room was only a few doors away from his and he rattled on the mahogany and waited until the other man answered. He was wearing pyjamas, which Joseph found bizarrely comical, and motioned from him to come in. Alois looked thoroughly exhausted and Joseph recalled what he'd witnessed as he'd been training that morning. Around his eyes there were heavy bags and his hands shook as he offered Joe a drink from the decanter. He nodded, taking the crystal glass he offered.

"I wouldn't normally," he lied, holding up the glass.

"Who are you kidding?" Alois said gruffly, motioning to the couch, "Have a seat."

Joseph was so embarrassed to the point that he remained silent as he took up Alois' offer.

"I need your help," the other man said without ceremony, "Martin left today. Resigned, didn't even resign actually. He just walked out. The queen gave him a dressing down too much and he just…" he blanched, "He told her where to go. None of the men will work with her and the king likes me at his side."

Joseph shook his head.

"Come on…we're paying you."

"To advise," he said calmly, "Not to bodyguard."

"Listen," Alois said sourly, "You have the contract and you know what's in it. It'll be easier than clearing up this mess…God knows this isn't going to be fixed. Not even by you."

Joseph leaned forward, "I haven't even had a chance. I know the contract says I should help when needed but-"

"You are needed," he answered, "I don't know what I was thinking hiring you. What can you really change? They won't change, why should I? I shouldn't have listened to the king."

He sat back, examined the man in front of him and immediately felt sorry. He had also been under the impression the king hadn't wanted him so the suggestion that he had was a surprise too.

"I don't have any other option," Alois muttered darkly, "Just until a replacement can be found. Please?"

He put the glass down, "Sure. Sure, okay."

"Thanks," he muttered, "I'm grateful."

Joseph waved his thanks away, "Don't worry. It's part of the job right? What do I need to know about her?"

Alois' face turned darkly but it was hidden behind his glass as he drained the scotch. He reached for the decanter and filled his glass up. Joseph awaited his answer, not with bated breath but with an awareness that Alois was choosing his words carefully.

"She's tricky."

When he finally said it, it wasn't massively overwhelming.

"You should be a diplomat," Joe responded plainly.

"Alright, the truth is I think she's a total bitch."

"Now there's some honesty."

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><p><strong>Thank you so very much. Please review. <strong>


	3. Three

**Thank you to those of you who have reviewed the previous chapter(s). Please continue to do so as it makes me very happy. **

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><p>The next morning he had to skip out of the training in order to attend the queen but Juan offered to take it to save disruption. For the first time in a few weeks he donned a suit, pleased to be out of sweats and training gear. Snapping on his new watch he checked the time; he'd be early if he went now. He double-checked her schedule once more and folding it over, slipped it in his breast pocket.<p>

Her chambers were in the same corridor as the king's, with an adjoining door he would later learn, but were far different from his. They were light and airy, though not without the typical trappings of this kind of lifestyle; rich tapestries and brocades and vases upon vases of fresh flowers. It was a pleasant change though from the rest of the palace.

The young princes were there too, he was surprised to see, eating breakfast at the table by the window. When he saw them both he bowed.

"Good morning," the younger of the two, Prince Phillippe, smiled, "How are you Joseph?"

The older brother, the one who was already at school, eyed him more warily.

"Pierre this is Joseph," the younger boy informed, filling the silence, "He works with Alois. He likes basketball, making him a favourite of mine. Forgive my brother Joseph, he's mute."

The other boy scowled, "I am not mute, Joseph. I just don't have a moment to speak over my brother here."

He smiled at their bickering, reminded of his own brothers. It appeared that regardless of wealth or standing brothers argued in the same way across the world and he immediately thought of himself and Miguel. The younger one levelled a kick at his sibling and they would have perhaps taken it further had it not been for a voice which stopped them in their tracks. The voice, though warning, was not without warmth either.

"Pip," it said, "I saw that. Stop it."

He turned to where the voice had come from and realised in that instant she hadn't noticed he was there. In an effort to make his presence known he cleared his throat. When she noticed him she changed immediately, her body lengthening in her expensive suit, and the smile slid from her face.

"Your Majesty," he bowed, "I am Colonel Romerro."

"Of course you are," she smiled blandly, "I hear you're my new detail."

"I am ma'am," he nodded, pulling himself up again.

"Are you ready to go Colonel?"

"Where are you going?" Prince Pierre asked, lifting his head from his book which he'd propped against his glass of orange juice.

"Nowhere without Michel," she said briskly, "That man wouldn't know punctuality if it battered him over the head with a cricket bat. We're supposed to be at the opening of a community centre though."

He suppressed the urge to chuckle at her criticism and watched as she went towards her sons. They both looked up expectantly at her.

"Behave today," she said softly, "Don't give your governess the run around again."

"Oh mama! We won't," the youngest one assured.

"Otherwise I shall send you to bed early tonight," she joked.

He failed to see, as she embraced her children in turn, why she seemed to have gained such a formidable reputation.

"Perhaps…perhaps we might join you?"

Phillippe said this with a hopefulness that seemed tinged with disappointment already.

"No," was her firm answer.

The younger son's face darkened considerably, "Well, perhaps you'll let Joseph play basketball with me later. To make it up?"

"Joseph? Who's Joseph?"

Perhaps that's why people took a disliking to her, he thought. He could fully understand that.

Pierre seemed embarrassed and he grumbled quietly, "The man behind you mama."

"Oh of course," she turned to him, smiled and pulling the edges of her suit jacket together, smoothed her hands over it.

He was able, for the first time, to examine her closely. She was formidably pretty and strangely appealing. He didn't usually find women who were liker her appealing; she was utterly feminine and prim looking, yet it made her attractive rather than off-putting. In spite of his professionalism, it wasn't hard to imagine that she had quite a figure under her perfectly tailored clothing. He shut down that thought process as an inherent weakness and turned as Michel, pen and diary and clipboard in hand, rushed into the room.

He watched as her face, somewhat pleasant and calm until that point, turned instantaneously dark and stormy. Michel stopped before her and offered a quick bow in apology.

"Do you have a watch, Michel? I believe I bought you one as a gift for your Christmas," she was deadly serious, "It was a veiled attempt at ensuring you improved. It appears my attempts have been fruitless."

While it sounded like a joke, it certainly wasn't. The princes, watching their mother, turned their faces away to the window.

"Ma'am, I-"

"Your excuses bore me," she said quietly and to her voice there was a deadly edge, "You are incompetent and now we are late."

She strode past him, forcing him, and Joseph, to scurry behind her.

"What are you doing here?" Michel bristled, obviously embarrassed.

"I'm the queen's new security detail," Joseph answered, more defensively than he intended.

"Great," Michel muttered as they reached the limo.

There were no footmen around and Michel had evidently forgotten his manners. The queen went to pull the door of the limo open after a minute pause, meaning that when he went to hold it open for her their hands clashed awkwardly through his leather gloves.

"Sorry Your Majesty," he flustered, realising she was as shocked as he, "I find it hard to break habits."

She cocked an eye brow, "It's a habit I'd rather like other members of my staff to adopt."

He nodded, smiled, and offering his hand helped her to climb in.

It struck him then that the staff in this palace seemed to have been infected with some sort of malaise that didn't just belie what he imagined were the rules of monarchy but also the rules of decency.

He slid in beside the driver while Michel climbed in the back with her. The city's police would provide the rest of the security at the opening and he'd already spoken to them on the phone that morning but, it being his first time working with her, he was nervous nonetheless. He checked his holster again, then the maps and drawings he'd done of the areas surrounding it, then slipped on his glasses. He didn't like the idea of people seeing his eyes; it was, for the sake of his job, better to remain as anonymous as possible.

He stole a few glances as they drove on, watching her as she read files in the back of the car and asked questions of Michel. She would run her fingers over her hair from time to time and when something she was reading evidently puzzled her, she would chew her bottom lip until understanding struck her.

She was, he had to acknowledge, pretty in a way he'd never found pretty before.

The ceremony went without a hitch and she was out and about speaking to people for over an hour. When they climbed back into the car she tilted her head back then motioned to the bouquets and flowers she had received while there.

"Michel, make sure they go to the veterans' home," she said, then pointed to her folder, "Pass me that please?"

"Your Majesty," the assistant said, "Have you decided about the diplomatic visit to London in the new year?"

"No, not quite yet Michel," she answered, "Let's get the Pear festival over with first and then the Independence Day ball. Did you order the books for the Pear Festival? It's important we support the effort the society are making."

Joseph could tell from his observation that Michel clearly hadn't.

"Um, no. You see I –"

Her stare of fury quelled him and he made no other excuse.

"Just do it," she said coldly, dipping her head.

There was silence in the car after that.

They returned to the palace around noon and she bid them farewell at the bottom of the stairs.

"Thank you, Colonel Romerro," she said, "I'll be going to my chamber now to do some work. I shall see you tomorrow."

He nodded, "Ah but I was under the impression, ma'am, that I was to remain with you. In any case, I should walk you to your suite."

She stuck her chin up in the air and strode away.

"I don't know if anyone told you," she condescended to turn around to address him as he followed, "But I hate being watched every single second of the day."

He said nothing and it seemed to throw her for a moment. She stalled in her steps to ensure he hadn't answered and when he didn't she let out a little 'Ha!' and kept moving.

Later that night Andre called him. The shrill ring of the phone interrupted his push ups and he got to the receiver just before it rang out.

"Hey," his friend said, "How are you?"

Andre phoned him nearly nightly but it was the first time since he'd come here that he failed to hide his dejection. He hadn't wanted to disappoint his friend after securing this opportunity but his day with the queen, and the fact he felt just like a glorified bodyguard, had made him feel a little sour.

"Bearing up," he grumbled.

"Oh that good?"

"I'm looking after the queen," he muttered darkly.

"Just for a while?"

"For an undetermined stretch of time," he reached in and switched on the shower.

"Right," his friend sighed, "If you're miserable, come home."

"No," he grabbed a towel and threw it over the radiator, "No it's fine."

"Maria and the kids are asking for you," Andre informed.

"Same to them."

"So what's she like?"

"Who?"

"The queen."

He thought about the question for a moment, "Oh she's…I don't know."

He was going to say 'alright' but not only was that massively vague, it was also somewhat untrue. He hadn't yet decided how he felt. Jamming the phone under his chin, he pulled of his t-shirt. Then he began to undo his jeans. When he stretched his leg out, a pain shot through his knee. He gasped a little and reached down to rub it.

"Oh?" His friend laughed, "Listen I've got to pick up Jaime from football. Just do one thing?"

"Anything for you Andre," he said dryly.

"Just don't sleep with her."

He stepped into the shower, already hanging up the phone.

"There's no danger of that."

That night he fell asleep, still reeling from her irritation at him. It wasn't anger he felt though, it was something a little more entertained than anger and a little more elusive than annoyance.

He slept poorly and was up before it was light. Deciding to go for a run, he made his way into the gardens just as the sun climbed slowly into the sky, promising a hot day. The queen wouldn't be outside the palace at all so it gave him an opportunity to review the spending of the security team versus the results they got which seemed, from his limited observations, to be rampantly mismatched. He thought he'd be the only one in the gardens at this time and he was until he got to the rose gardens and, to his surprise, watched from beside a massive pear tree as the queen walked through the grounds. She was tapping her riding crop against her Jodhpur-clad thigh as she trailed her hands across the roses. She wasn't supposed to leave the palace but apparently she had.

He walked slowly toward her, following her for a moment before he spoke.

"Your Majesty?"

She startled and spun round. Regaining her bearings, she straightened up.

"Well you're hardly dressed for riding," she said coolly.

For the first time he considered his outfit. No, track pants, sneakers and a thin vest were not made for riding he had to concede. She was examining him with unabashed distaste and he felt suddenly self-conscious.

"No," he countered, "But then no one told me we were going riding."

"Surely it slipped your mind," she turned away from him, her face reddening considerably just before she did.

"Perhaps you forgot to tell me, Your Majesty, if I may be so bold," he said, resisting the urge to smirk, and continued before she had the chance to answer, "But no matter. I can ride in these."

She began walking in front, tapping her riding crop even more frantically against her thigh. It was distracting for him and he wanted to reach out and snatch it from her.

"I highly doubt you can keep up with me," she eventually said as they came to the clearing at which the stables were located.

"Your Majesty, I am a man of hidden talents," he came to stand just behind her as they watched the stable boy hurry forward and, with a nod, scurry in the other direction to ready her horse. He was obviously used to this clandestine ritual.

"Do you know interrupting my riding is what urged my other detail to leave?"

"No," he lied.

"Well it did," she stuck her leg up on the wrung of the training yard, in a move he considered quite unqueenly.

"Your Majesty," he swore, "You won't even know I'm here."

She eyed him, "I sincerely hope so."

He knew she wanted him to be a poor rider and her first test came when she thundered out of the stables ahead of him. He kicked the horse's side, the king's mount that she'd condescended to allow him to borrow, and the horse took off after its stable mate. After they'd galloped for around twenty minutes he started to enjoy it again as he had when he was in the military and as he did when he went home.

He regretted not riding as much as he used to.

Pulling up beside her as she stopped, he settled into the saddle. The horse was a lovely creature, quite in tune with what he wanted, and he rubbed the animal's neck approvingly.

"You haven't said a word," she turned to him and he couldn't see her eyes behind her sunglasses, "I like that."

"It's not my job to speak," he answered.

"I wish other people would follow your lead," she took off again and he followed her further out onto the estate.

She thundered toward a dirt path eventually, turning her horse sharply as she did so. He knew this particular path took them to a gate that led them to the open countryside; a series of fields and hills that did not count as royal land. Land that was, essentially, unsecured.

She rode towards the gate. Without saying a word, because he knew this was a test, he dismounted when she stopped and she did the same herself.

"Let me?"

He stepped towards the gate which was, he noted, woefully insecure. He flicked the latch and it creaked open. She looked at him and for a moment as shock fluttered across her face. In an instant it was gone to be replaced with a smile.

"You know you're letting me break rules, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Your Majesty," he turned away from her, aware he was being very rude, and climbed back onto his mount, "But you see I believe that you're going to do it anyway. You might as well have me with you. I am unarmed, had I had a bit of notice I'd have been better prepared, but I'm pretty sure I could look after you anyway. You are a grown woman ma'am; I won't chastise you like a child."

She stood beside her horse, scratching its neck absently. Then saying nothing she climbed back on and guided her horse through the gate. When on the other side she took off at a gallop, letting the horse run its length in a way he hadn't imagined she was capable of. She looked majestic and relaxed all at the same time and he found it a pleasure just to watch her enjoyment of this. He supposed it was a rarity for her to find something she enjoyed so fully; at least it certainly seemed that way.

She pulled her mount up to a trot and he followed suit, staying just a pace or so behind. At the crest of a hill she stopped and they both spent a quiet moment looking over the land. From here you could see the perfect gardens of the palace and the grounds. It seemed, to him, to be smaller than he first imagined. A little microcosm of perfection.

"You're a very good rider," she remarked, "For a comm-"

She stopped herself and tipped her face away. He laughed a little at her embarrassment and it was louder than he intended. She snapped her head towards him and her look was fierce.

"Don't worry," he said, before she could get angry, "I am not offended."

"I didn't expect you to be," she said sharply.

He nodded, "I was a soldier, ma'am, and before I was a soldier I was a Spanish boy with horses and a farm. That's why I can ride. I used to ride along the beach and up into the hills when I was young. It was something my father and I did together."

"Don't be modest, weren't you a Colonel?"

"Yes," he nodded, "Sheer luck and a whole lot of confidence. I talked my way into my commission."

She smiled a little at that then she pulled her shirt sleeve up, revealing a modest gold watch. It was a stark contrast to her engagement ring, a large and gaudy bobble that dwarfed even the diamonds of her wedding ring.

"We should get back," she said, "I like to be there for the boys."

It was a strange comment to make so he simply nodded and turned his horse around with her, following her lead back to the gate.

He walked with her in silence back to the palace and she stopped at the steps before they went in.

"Same time tomorrow Colonel?"

He smiled a little, "Yes."

She began climbing the stairs but at the top she turned to him, "I suggest some more appropriate clothing."

He nodded, smiled, "Of course ma'am."

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><p>Please read and review. Thank you!<p> 


	4. Four

As winter died out and spring emerged they fell into this routine almost without agreement. He'd meet her at the break of dawn and they would ride to the gate and out into the countryside. He hadn't yet told Alois that they went outwith the bounds of the palace and it seemed like it was best to keep it from him. The Head of Security's attitude had improved on the other hand and he had taken over the training of the men in the mornings. Now the queen appeared more content it was easier for Alois to do the job he was supposed to. In no small part had he acknowledged Joseph's role in this but Joseph let it slide in favour of the substantial portion of money sitting in the bank. During the time Joe wasn't assigned to be with the queen he reviewed and began making small changes to protocols and systems within the palace. On the down-low he started researching basic CCTV systems too but he was keeping that for when Alois really trusted him.

By the time spring was in her full throes, he felt like he at least had a routine. One morning he awaited her outside her suite and, when she didn't show after forty-five mutes, her maid appeared instead.

He stood as she spoke, "Colonel Romerro, the queen won't be riding today."

He was surprised to find himself disappointed, "Is she alright?"

"Fine," the maid said vaguely, "She's fine."

"Alright," he turned away, "Please pass on my thoughts to her."

The maid curtsied and disappeared back inside.

She didn't emerge for the rest of the day and it was only that night that he found out about her mysterious absence. He had settled down to some pear pudding – a treat with which he'd come to form a love-hate relationship – in the kitchens with the cook. A round woman, whose manner reminded him a lot of his sister Rita, she was called Agnes. Michel, looking flustered, came in just as he took his first bite.

"She's going to have her dinner in her chambers tonight," he said quietly, "The king is out."

"Ohh," Agnes said darkly and began preparing a tray as if she'd been given an unspoken instruction.

When she had done so, heaping extra pear pudding in to the bowl, she pulled a vivid rose from the display in the middle of the table and stuck it haphazardly in a little vase on the tray.

"Flowers always cheer her up," she said to him, motioning Michel to take the tray, "And God knows she needs it."

He knew she wanted him to ask and, never someone to let a charming woman down, he obliged.

"What do you mean?"

Her eyes alit with some sort of glee that he recognised from having sisters and a mother. It was the kind of glee that could only be borne from gossip. She pulled up a stool but because she was always industrious, brought a drawer full of silver spoons which she polished furiously as she spoke;

"She had another blistering row with the king last night," she informed, "The maids maintain it was about sending the prince back to his school in England. She hates it and now he wants to send the little prince next year. The footmen, on the other hand, swear it was about the king's mistress frequenting the palace. She doesn't mind the mistress but she doesn't want her here."

She waited for his reaction. When she didn't get one she continued on;

"Of course it could be either. God knows it's been about both before. I am going to go with what the maids say. After all, the footmen are so rubbish at retaining any information. But the maids, the maids know everything."

He couldn't share her excitement at the possibilities; in fact, he felt guilty for asking at all. Suddenly he didn't feel hungry and he pushed his pudding to the side. She eyed it and then looked disappointed.

"Not hungry?"

"No," he stood up, "No I'm not. Thanks though."

He didn't sleep well at all. For all they spent most of their time together in silence, he felt responsible for her in way he'd never felt for an employer before. He'd guarded sheiks and politicians, high-profile lawyers and slightly more questionable characters but he'd never felt so closely responsible for someone. Not even for the men under his command in the military. The fact that so many people were involved in the intimacies of her life suddenly appeared to be a horror in itself and it was this voyeurism that made him toss and turn all night and head out to get her for her morning ride much sooner than he needed to.

She met him at the door of her chamber, not dressed for a ride, and with eyes that were tired and red.

"Your Majesty," he greeted her with a bow.

"I want to walk today," she informed.

"Alright," he stepped in behind her but spoke a moment later, "Ma'am, I can hang back today. If you want. I can…"

He didn't know what he was trying to say.

"No," she turned almost too quickly.

Her face was, for a moment, agonised. Then she shook the terror that had descended across her face away. He felt as if he were watching something completely private and he resisted the urge to avert his eyes from her agony.

"No, please don't," she continued.

"As you wish ma'am," he nodded, following her through the palace and into the gardens.

They waked slowly and quietly for a while. Eventually she turned to him.

"Would you walk with me?"

"I am," he said foolishly.

"No," she shook her head, sounded sharp, "Beside me."

He stepped to catch up with her.

They walked side by side in silence until they came to fountain which was hidden just east of the maze. She dipped her hand in the cool clear water, then turned to him.

"Where were you schooled?"

"Village school," he answered, "I was a terrible attender. I imagine I was a frustrating student. Thanks to one of my teachers I got accepted into the officer's college. If it hadn't been for him pushing me I don't know where I would have ended."

She smiled, "I hated school. I left home for school when I was five and didn't come home until I was eighteen. Then I was home three weeks before I was married. Then here…"

"That must have been hard," he said it because he didn't really know what else to say.

That sounded, as far as he was concerned, the worst of childhoods. To criticise it though would be tasteless so he put the onus to discuss it on her. It was obvious too that her argument with her husband must have concerned her sons, since it was so evidently preoccupying her. He felt sorry for her in a way he hadn't before; she seemed to be so very much alone.

"It was," she shrugged and he was shocked by the very purity of it, it was neither calculated nor queenly, "But that is life. Life is hard."

"It is ma'am," he agreed, taking her lead as she continued to walk.

"I used to think I didn't want to talk to you," she turned to him, "It turns out I don't mind it."

"I am glad," he smiled, pleased despite himself that she had felt it appropriate to give him this kind of compliment.

"Will you come with me to take Pierre to the airport tomorrow afternoon?"

"I didn't realise that was happening ma'am, but of course."

"No," she laughed dryly, "No nor did I."

After that they were quiet, sharing only an observation about the weather, and they headed back to the palace just as a soft spring shower began to fall. At the top of the stairs the king was standing, smoking a cigarette as he leaned on the balustrade.

"Clarisse," he called to her.

Joseph was surprised, though it was silly, to hear her name. It was the first time anyone had called her that and it made him feel strangely bereft to hear it. It took everything that she was away from her. She stopped at the bottom of the steps and sucked in a breath before he came to her.

"If you'll excuse me Your Majesties," he bowed to the king and then to her.

He wasn't out of earshot before he heard a fraction of their conversation.

"I am sorry Clarisse," he heard the king say, "But you know it's for the best."

There was a pause and then she said, "Let's not have this conversation again. It's decided Rupert."

"But I –"

"Please," she sounded as if she was about to cry, "Don't."

For a moment Joseph almost turned back to her. He knew though that it would not only be massively inappropriate but to be seen weak would hurt her more than to be weak. And anyway, he was a fool to think he could offer her any comfort.

He headed to the city that night with a couple of the younger guys in the security team who had the following morning off. They promised they'd turn up for training anyway so taking them at their word, he joined them in a few beers. After a couple of quieter places they ended up watching the English football league in the sports bar where Louise worked. It was heaving with people but when they settled in a booth she came over and took their order.

"Hey Mr Yeah," she smiled, "The usual?"

"Yeah," he smiled, "Of course."

She winked and, pad in hand, walked away. Juan, one of the newest recruits whom Joe had struck up a friendship with, nudged him.

"Hasn't taken you long to make friends," he laughed.

"It's not like that," he murmured, not too seriously, "She's a little too young."

"I wouldn't complain about that," Juan smiled.

"Aren't you happily engaged?"

"I am, yeah."

Anton leaned forward, "I don't know. You want a woman with experience."

"That's crude," Juan said.

"We're amongst friends, right," Anton laughed and took one of the beers from the tray Louise had just put down. Within seconds all that remained on it were rings of condensation where bottles once stood.

"I like that new maid," he continued, "The one that's working with Mrs Kowt."

"Mrs Kowt," Dominic, quiet until this point, pulled a grim face.

They all laughed.

"There aren't any good looking women at the palace really. The ones that are, are married," Juan continued, "And then well, the only one that isn't happily married is a bitch."

"Who's that?"

Joe would later consider this the stupidest question he'd asked since coming to Genovia.

"The queen."

For a moment he was shocked then, because everyone else did, he laughed.

"I didn't think men fancied her," he said, trying to deflect the conversation surrounding her personality.

"Come on," Anton answered, "Even I think she's good looking and she's not much younger than my mother."

Joe laughed again, "Making me not much younger than your father."

"Yeah, you're different," he smiled, "You're…I don't know. You're not like her."

"No one's quite like her," Dominic said dryly, "Shame too. She's gorgeous in a pair of riding pants."

Anton laughed loudly and slammed Dominic's back. They were distracted when Manchester United put a neat goal away, erupting with the rest of the bar in celebration.

Joe took an unreasonable gulp from his bottle and attempted, vainly, to push Dominic's comment from his head.

His head hurt from drinking the next day and he suddenly recalled that he hadn't actually drank for a while now. He felt, he had to acknowledge, all the better for it too. He wasn't due to meet the Queen until one and he lay in his bed for a while, rather than getting up to go for his usual run. He wondered if she was getting her son ready for his final term before the summer break, though it seemed like it was most probably a job for the governess rather than her. He turned over in his sheets and reached for the files he'd been perusing the night before which detailed the spending of the security team. He reached for his pen and highlighter too, and pulling off the cap, started to highlight all the areas where spending was being poorly implemented. On the fourth page his phone began to ring.

He jammed it between his chin and neck and continued reading.

"Hello?"

"Hello," a voice that he hadn't heard in a while said, "It's me."

He dropped the pen into his lap, "Anna, how are you?"

He already heard the tears in her voice, "Joe my dad has died. I'm sorry. Andre gave me the number, I didn't know who to call."

He paused for a moment, "Anna, I am really sorry."

"I just…" she stalled and sobbed a little on the end of the phone.

"Anna," he mumbled, "Anna I can't come home. I'm sorry. What about your brother?"

He felt so like a coward it was difficult to even believe he was saying this. The woman with whom he'd been on the precipice of babies and marriage with felt, now, like a trivial inconvenience.

She seemed quieter suddenly, "I didn't want you to come home! I just wanted to tell you. My dad liked you."

He heard the silent 'God knows why' in the pause that followed.

"I just thought you'd like to know."

"I would. I mean I do," he tried to sound apologetic, "I am sorry Anna."

"It's fine," there were no tears in her voice now, "Thanks anyway."

He felt cruel as he hung up the phone and putting the file to the side, slid out of bed for a run. Before he did though, he phoned a florist in Madrid and sent flowers to her apartment.

Later that day he met the queen and the eldest prince at the steps where they stood with the king and the younger prince, as well as the governess. To the side Alois was giving his final briefing to Anton and Max, who would be accompanying the young prince to school for the term. The final brief he was giving was, on the whole, prepared and written for him by Joseph. The king bid his son a fond but curt farewell and went up the stairs before he could witness the young prince's farewell to his brother.

"Can I come to the airport?"

"No Phillippe," the queen answered, "You have homework, which has been lying all spring break, to complete."

He huffed a little then nudged his older brother, "See you later P. Not long until I'm your roommate."

Pierre smiled openly then pulled his brother into a hug, "Not long at all."

The queen, almost refusing to watch the exchange, turned her head toward the gardens as they spoke. He knew then what she needed and despite himself he lied.

"Your Majesty," he feigned checking his watch, "We best be on our way."

Anton rode up front with the Max and he was forced to slide into the back of the limo with the queen and crown prince. The prince sat hip to hip with his mother and Joseph was surprised to see the young prince be so openly affectionate. In his short time at the palace he had discovered that the older prince was more distant than Phillippe, with whom he'd only managed one game of basketball since his arrival, and he was much quieter than his brother too.

"Pip will miss you," the queen said to him, "I'll miss you."

"I will be fine mama," he assured, "I will be fine. I want to go back."

It was clear that the young prince was lying. In that moment, Joseph admired him for his attempt at comfort.

"What have you got this term?"

"All sorts of things," he smiled, "Lots of competitions. I prefer the academics though."

"You always have," she answered.

Joseph was acutely aware of the fact that they'd forgotten him completely. He imagined they'd learned how to conduct their lives with people there anyway so he didn't feel uncomfortable or odd. In fact it was a blessing not to be involved.

"Pip's the sporty one," the crown prince continued, "And Joe is going to make a concrete effort to ensure he entertains my brother, I am sure. Aren't you Joe?"

He was shocked to have been brought into the conversation, "Your Highness?"

"You are going to entertain Pip, I mean Phillippe," he said, "He won't shut up about playing basketball with you. You seem to have him enthralled. Perhaps some days after school mama will let you make time for him?"

It was a very strange request so he simply nodded, "Of course sir."

On consideration, from a young teen, it was an odd request indeed. Joseph wondered over what positon the older prince believed himself to occupy.

"That would be nice Joseph," she smiled then dipped to kiss her son's forehead.

It was the first time the queen had used his name.

After the parting at the airport, which he tried very hard not to watch, he held open the door for her as she was about to climb into the limo. In the distance he could still see Genovia 1 taxying on the runway.

She paused though before she ducked her head, "Please ride with me."

He nodded, acquiescing her request.

"Thank you."

They rode in silence and the only time he moved to do anything was to offer her his handkerchief for her tears.

"I'm sorry," she said eventually.

"Your Majesty," he said gently, "I'm not even here."

When they returned to the palace the king was waiting at the foot of the stairs. He came towards her, taking her hand in his. At first she appeared to resist but then she allowed him take her in his arms. Watching an exchange like this was somehow voyeuristic and he averted his eyes.

"Come on 'Risse," the king said softly, "It'll be okay."

She smiled up at him through tears, then he led her up the stairs. At this point he could see their vast age difference; the king looked so much older than she did and so much more in control. Joseph didn't bother to follow them because it seemed inappropriate.

"Clarisse," the king pulled her nearer as they walked up the stairs, "Clarisse I do love you."

"Oh Rupert, I know," she had said, snuffling through tears.

For the first time, as he trundled back to his room, Joseph allowed himself to wonder at the nature of their relationship. When he did though that too felt inappropriate so he shut the questions and considerations down. Their marriage, as bizarre as it seemed, was none of his business.


	5. Five

**Tiny transitional chapter in thanks for your reviews. I genuinely love writing this story! **

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><p>April fell into May and brought sticky heat and burning, bright sun. He had taken up the mantle, without complaint, of picking up the younger prince from his exclusive school in Pyrus. At times the queen would accompany him but she rarely did. The king, on the other hand, was fully occupied with his work in parliament and with the budding casinos being built along the coast. Anna sent the flowers back and, along with a bunch of bouquets the queen had been given at a public appearance, they went to the Veterans' Centre too. He thought of her from time to time but it was at a distance he seemed to be comfortable with.<p>

"Can we play when we get home?"

The prince, against his explicit rules, clambered from the seat at the back of the limo to the partition that separated them.

"Sit back sir," he insisted.

"Come on Joe, it's Friday."

"I didn't say no, sir," he continued, "I said sit back."

He'd come to enjoy the boy's company and , despite the fact he was as irritating as he was talkative at times, he reminded Joe of his younger brothers at home. In fact the palace made him pang for his family. He had thought it'd be easy to come here and live for the year but it had occurred to him recently that he was missing the simplicity of home and family. A few days previously he'd put in some leave and planned to go and visit.

Tonight he'd float the idea of CCTV to Alois so he thought it might be an idea to make himself scarce for a while anyway.

"I have an hour after dinner," he said to the prince, "How about that?"

There was no court in the palace so they had to make do with the ballroom. While Mrs Kowt wasn't entirely pleased, the king had given his reluctant permission so she had no choice but to put up with the scuffing on the fine marble floor. They had a stand-alone hoop that lived in a cupboard in the smaller antechamber and it was Phillippe's job to fetch and erect it before they began. They were going head to head, seeing who could score the most hoops, when the queen came in.

They stopped and, as was custom, Joseph bowed.

"Don't mind me," she said gently, settling in one of the fine chairs near the double doors, "Phillippe asked me to come and watch and it's the first moment I've had free."

He felt suddenly stupid then, like an overgrown boy as he bounded about after the silly ball. The young prince was in his element though and it made it easier for Joseph to get lost in the play. Soon he forgot she was there and focussed on the game. Phillippe was improving massively and soon he'd give Joseph a run for his money.

"Sir, it won't be long until you're trouncing me," he laughed, lunging just as the prince pivoted away.

"Then you can teach me another sport!"

The prince sunk a final hoop and stepped back, watching the ball bounce and roll to a halt. With expectant eyes he turned to his mother.

"Well," she seemed a little lost and, again, Joseph was woefully embarrassed, "That is boisterous."

"But I am good, didn't you see?"

"I did," she stood up, "I did indeed. Run along, your father asked to see you tonight before he departs for London."

The prince went off and Joseph wouldn't have been wrong to say his step seemed reluctant.

She pressed her hands together, "You certainly keep him entertained. I…thank you for that."

He rocked on the balls of his heels. For the first time he noticed she seemed nervous. Perhaps it had been there before and, angry at himself, he fretted that he hadn't noticed it sooner.

"I enjoy it," he filled the silence, "The prince reminds me of home. Of being with my brothers."

"Do you miss home?"

"A little," it wasn't a lie, "In fact I am going home at the end of the weekend, once the crown prince returns. I wanted to wait until he returned; so the numbers wouldn't be down."

She smiled, "Ah, yes, I saw that you had annual leave on the roster and I did wonder."

It surprised him that she paid attention to this.

"I hope you enjoy your break Colonel," she began to climb the stairs, "With the summer coming up you will need it."

He couldn't help but feel a little sore at her formality and he didn't know why.


	6. Six

Thank you for reading and reviewing previously. I am really enjoying this I have to say!

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><p>His conversation about the CCTV having been met with vague disapproval, he was glad when he took off for Madrid on Monday morning. After the long drive he stopped in at his apartment, wading past a pile of mail, to collect a few things and shower before the final leg of his journey. The seaside town – it had been a small village when he was a boy– in which he'd grown up was four hours' drive outside of Madrid and he drove leisurely, reaching his family home just as dusk dusted itself across the bay.<p>

The first few days passed in meals and wine and conversation and helping his ageing father out with the harvest on the farm and when anyone asked about Anna, he quelled the question with a pained look. A bit of an entrepreneur, Joseph Romerro senior had his fingers in every pie in the little town and by midweek one of the hands on the fishing vessel he owned had fallen ill so Joe stepped up to do that too.

It was good to be home, among those who loved and did not judge him, despite the mistakes he was so prone to make. It was good to be working and using his hands and tiring himself out every day with fresh air and labour. He slept soundly and was only troubled by thoughts of the queen's parting conversation with him when he allowed himself a moment of reflection. Andre came down and spent a day on the boat too, catching him up with the latest news from the company as they fished and worked and reeled in nets. He was surprised to find he felt a little detached from it all and was keener to share stories of Genovia than listen to facts about money. He did as his friend expected of him though; made the right noises when Andre said positives and agreed grumpily when his friend complained. It felt like motions rather than genuine reactions and his feeling of guilt was hard to put aside.

At the end of the day, when the sun was balancing on the horizon, they ordered wine and lobster and paella from the restaurant at the pier after they docked the boat. He had one glass and pushed it to the side. Andre cocked an eyebrow in question.

"Health kick?"

"I'm trying," Joseph answered, picking apart a shrimp.

"I am impressed," his friend leaned forward, "You seem happy."

"That's stretching it," he laughed, "I'd say I'm more entertained."

"How is it working with the queen?"

His silence gave him away before his answer could.

"It's okay."

"Just okay?"

"It's good for the books, huh?"

"Don't get involved," Andre warned suddenly, earning his offense almost instantly.

He threw him a dirty look, "Don't start."

"I'm just saying!"

Andre held up his hands and laughed.

"And so am I," Joe chucked a shrimp-shell at him.

"Not long 'till you're back in Madrid and we can kick out Augustino."

"I know."

It was on his return from the harbour the morning before he was due to leave that his sister met him at the end of the farm road to tell him he had an urgent call.

When he got to the phone, he recognised Alois' voice immediately.

"Yes?"

"There's been another intruder," he sounded frantic, "Joseph, she's going insane."

"What?"

"The queen," he cried down the line, obviously exasperated, "And she's saying she wants you."

He didn't know whether to be touched or to be worried. What he did know was that it offered the relief he needed; he'd wanted to phone just to check that everything was okay in the palace but had resisted.

His mother, spluttering her disapproval, followed him as he loaded his bag into the trunk of the car.

"Mama," he gripped her shoulders, "I need to."

"Why?" She was clearly irritated.

"Because it's my job," he answered.

"That's not the job you described to me," his mother huffed, "You haven't even had dinner."

"I've eaten enough to do me the year," he answered, already climbing in the front seat, "I'll phone when I get there."

It was midnight before he reached the palace and that was with a nonstop drive. He was so tired that at times he felt himself falling asleep behind the wheel and rolling down the window was his only saving grace. He didn't quite understand why he felt the urgent need to be there but the thought that he'd somehow abandoned his post would not leave his mind.

When he arrived, Alois met him at the foot of the stairs.

"What happened?"

"A journalist," he said, "Climbed over the wall. We think he was trying to get access to the crown prince, luckily he's with his father hunting. So is the younger prince," Alois shook his head.

Joseph was so incredulous that he couldn't quite find the words to answer. They climbed the stairs and entered the palace. The security room's door was open and inside he could see the team huddled in conversation. At least, he though wryly, something had galvanized them.

"He was snooping about the gardens and she came across him," Alois' voice actually grew concerned at this point, "He started taking photographs of her. Can you imagine? Dominic tried to apprehend him and it turned ugly."

Joseph felt, momentarily, violated on her behalf. Waking in her own gardens she'd been accosted by someone. As lame as the journalist's intentions were it was still a horrible thing for her and he imagined that it felt like an intrusion beyond anything believable. She was used to having cameras thrust in her face all the time but on her own land, in her own time, it was grossly wrong. He felt fury in his chest. Had Alois taken on his first quarter's feedback, this wouldn't have happened. Had Joseph been there it wouldn't have happened; he pushed the blooming feeling of negligence to the side.

"She's blown it way out of proportion."

At this he stopped dead in his tracks and turned to Alois. It was just the two of them in the isolated corridor. He thought of wrapping his fingers around the other man's throat and pressing down on his windpipe until he gasped for breath.

"Are you kidding?"

The other man paled. At his sides Joe clenched his fist in an effort not to use them.

"As trivial as it may seem you, Alois," he cried fiercely, "That's an utter violation of her privacy. A paparazzo? Are you an idiot? No wonder she think you're incompetent," it was out of his mouth before he could stop it, "It's because you are."

Storming ahead he made towards her chamber, only stopping to motion to the guards to let him in. They pushed the doors open swiftly and without being invited, he entered.

She was sitting on the couch in her suite, her hands around a brandy bowl. She seemed unbearably vulnerable then and guilt, while massively illogical, washed over him.

"Your Majesty," she appeared not to register him for a moment.

When she did look up her eyes were red and sore looking and her voice, when she finally spoke, was hoarse.

"Leave us," she ordered.

Michel, previously loitering in the corner appeared, for a moment, reluctant to go. Finally he did though and closed the door behind him.

He'd never been alone with her, in her rooms, like this.

"You can't leave again," she simply said, staring into the fire.

He didn't understand why she needed a fire; it was stiflingly hot with all of the windows closed. He hadn't known what to expect but it wasn't that either. He was slightly alarmed by the distance in her voice and eyes.

"Your Majesty," he broke all protocol by crouching down in front of her, "Are you okay?"

She smiled weakly, "They'll think I'm overreacting, and Rupert will too. They'll laugh at me and call me difficult. I know I ride off alone but that's on my terms. I know sometimes I want to escape but it's on my terms. I know, I know. I just feel so…My whole life...my whole life..."

Naturally, instinctively, he put his fingers over hers. She flinched, from the cold of his hand perhaps, but did not pull away. He was trying to convey his concern for her through the only method he knew. Mounting concern, over her clear trauma, took away from any protocol he might have felt obliged to maintain.

"Your whole life?"

He urged her to continue. He knew, perhaps more-so than ever, that she had to give these fears words and freedom. Perhaps then she might be able to put them to sleep.

"My whole life has been a series of intrusions," her voice broke into a crumbling sob, "I don't know if I can handle one more."

His heart ached for her then and he found himself making a promise he knew he couldn't keep.

"I won't leave," he whispered, "Alright?"

"Alright."

"You have to stay," she said again.

Taking the glass from her hand he placed it to the side.

"I will," he promised, "But you should sleep."

She looked surprised for a moment then nodded, "I am so tired."

"You are ma'am," he motioned towards the double doors that closed off her bedroom.

She looked towards them too with terror on her face and he couldn't help but feel embarrassed.

"It'll be okay."

She appeared to gather herself a little, "Of course, of course."

At the door she turned to look again. He had already peeled his jacket off and after laying it over the arm of the couch, slipped off his shoes.

"I am going to be here," he pointed at the settee, "I promise."

She simply nodded and disappeared behind the door. She didn't close it though, letting it fall open a few inches.

He awoke on her couch a few hours later, still smelling of the sea and the journey he'd taken hours before. His neck was stiff and his head pounded with exhaustion. At first he didn't know what had woken him but then the sounds of sobs and little cries finally registered.

Clambering off the couch and walking through the pain of a stiff knee, he pushed her bedroom doors open. In the centre of the bed she was writhing about, apparently in the throes of a terrible nightmare. She was still wearing her clothes and the sheets were wrapped in a tight tangle around her.

Without thinking, with only feeling, he dashed toward her bed and climbed onto it.

"Clarisse," despite the rules he was breaking, it seemed more important to save her from this unnamed terror, "Clarisse it's alright."

Her skin was on fire and there were tears rolling down her face.

For the first time ever he felt the stirring of something he would want to run away from for the rest of his life.

She eventually calmed in his arms and whether she woke or not remained a mystery because she didn't open her eyes. Instead he stayed with her like that, cradled in his arms, until the sun too intruded on her life, and only left just before her maids were supposed to arrive.

That day the king, cutting his hunting trip short, came home and on the same afternoon granted Joseph access to funds to begin fitting CCTV. He spent twenty-five minutes with his wife in her chambers before coming to Joseph and giving him carte blanche with the security finances. It was, in no small part, a victory for Joseph. Soured by his success and their conversation of the night before, Alois merely nodded when he heard the news.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

He asked this as the king turned his back on them, his posture stooped and irritated.

The Head of Security nodded curtly again and showed Joe into his office. Rather than risk another confrontation it seemed prudent to Joe to bury the hatchet. Alois, clearly, had other intentions.

"I know what you're playing at," Alois said immediately," And if you think you're getting my job you've another thing coming."

Joseph was genuinely taken aback. The thought, until this point, hadn't crossed his mind. As the Head of Security leaned forward he caught the tangy smell of stale scotch on his breath.

"No. I don't. I was actually going to apologise for losing my temper with you."

"If you think they'll give a common rake who's overly fond of women - and drink - the job over me, you've certainly miscalculated."

Offended was a poor description for how Joe felt. The insult was not only low but it was also incredibly inaccurate. He'd been all but a cloistered monk for his entire time here and had cut back his boozing to a wine with dinner. He just shrugged and brushed it off despite the offence he felt - it was a threat from a washed up alpha male who felt his position was tenuous. And Joe suddenly realised that it was. He pitied him almost instantly and wondered how he'd feel had someone come and threatened his position.

"I don't want your job," he said calmly, "I wouldn't want it for all the money in the world. You asked me to come here. You contracted me. You asked me to watch her. It's not my fault I do my job well."

Alois looked at him, "You think you know this job? Once your contract is over I'll be glad to see the back of you."

Joe merely smiled and nodded, "Is there anyone to replace me yet, for the queen I mean?"

The threat was implicit as well as, on Joe's side, false. He didn't think he'd want to relinquish his role as her bodyguard even if they had found someone willing. At this thought, he felt his stomach clench suddenly.

Alois grew flustered, "Eh no."

"No, didn't think so."

He stormed out of the office and, needing to clear his head, decided to go for a jog. It always helped to think these things out. He was surprised how Alois' insult seemed to have grown into something monstrous, larger and blacker than he'd first thought. He was insulted because that was no longer him. He had not realised, or course, that he would feel this way until he was forced to assess how much these few months at the palace had separated him from who he used to be. That was the injustice of it all; that his change had been both silent and sudden. The revelation though was a blessing in disguise. He was, he had to acknowledge, happier despite himself. He was happy not drinking and womanising but that seemed to have annoyed Alois even more. Like a petulant child, he was insulted by the unfairness of it all.

He wasn't alone though in his pursuit of fitness and, not wanting to be rude, found himself jogging alongside Juan. Initially he was irritated but eventually he found himself grateful for the company. With time to kill in England the younger guard had developed quite a physique and had taken fondly to exercise. They jogged for a while in silence after their conversation about the latest la Liga matches died out when Juan spoke;

"You know," he suddenly said, "We'd support you if you became Head..."

Not missing a step, or beat, Joseph looked at him.

"What makes you say that?"

"Alois thinks it, for one," Juan answered, "And you've motivated us to the point we're good. We're actually good. You're the kind of leader we need."

With temptation forming, he shut his companion down; "It's not going to happen."

Juan shrugged, "But you're happy here?"

"I don't know," he said, a little more sharply than he'd intended.

"You know that's why you were brought here in the first place, don't you? The king's wanted rid of him for years," Juan said, "It's just proved impossible to do. He knows too much."

He couldn't help but feel played. Though he'd had his suspicions, he'd considered it poor etiquette to have a man appoint the person who would replace him. Since the moment he'd met the king he'd had the inherent feeling that he was slippery and duplicitous.

"I see," he slowed to a walk and voiced these thoughts, "Well that seems wrong; getting the man who they want me to replace to hire me, unwittingly."

Juan grimaced, "These are the Renaldis Joe, and with them nothing is ever simple."

"No," he looked towards the balcony on which he'd first saw her, "No it's really not."

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><p>Thank you for reading. Please review.<p> 


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